Bathe | Devany Bauer

Bathe | Devany Bauer

I heard the rain before I saw it, the familiar pitter patter, pitter patter. How I imagine the hooves of eight tiny reindeer would sound on Christmas. But this is mid-July and Santa isn’t real. Rain is real. Water is real. I am real. It was warm enough outside that the raindrops resembled the drops that tumble out of my shower head and travel down my breasts and back. It has been so long since I’ve had a bath – my eyes flash to the lake where the air pockets snap and pop as more raindrops fall from the sky to the water’s surface. I’m in it. I’m submerged. I’m taking a bath. The pads of my feet press against the smooth stones underneath me and in one swift motion my hips rise to the surface. I’m floating.

There is nothing but water above me, around me, inside me.

Catalogue Entry No. 1 | Roxanne Spielman

It’s like smushing those foamy, yellow ear plugs into your head holes before the fireworks start thus making everything sound like you’re underwater, in a fish tank, at some cheap China Buffett; everything muffled, dull, bland, and somewhat irrelevant; the little girl, with the braces, from Finding Nemo tap, tap, tapping on the glass.

| Devany Bauer

Isolation.

It’s been over a year. When are they going to let us out?

We’ve been here for too long. Pawns in their game of “Uncle Sam Says,” --mask up, stay inside, do your part, we’re in this together-The grossly wealthy sunbathe and sip Coronas on their private islands.